


About the River and Cliché

by magentania



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Small Town, Harry is a lawyer, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Content, The sex happened before they became legit step siblings tho, and also a white boy with his white boy problems
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-22
Updated: 2015-04-22
Packaged: 2018-03-22 18:05:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3738319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magentania/pseuds/magentania
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Are you flirting with me?” Harry whispers, raising one of his eyebrows, “your future stepbrother?”</i>
  <br/>
  <i>“Why, I thought I was being offensive.”</i>
  <br/>
  <i>Harry snorts, “By calling me sexy?”</i>
  <br/>
  <i>“Nope. That means you’re just nothing but an attractive asshole.” </i>
</p><p>The one where Harry’s mom is going to get married, which is totally fine - if he did not happen to have an one night stand with his soon-to-be stepbrother before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	About the River and Cliché

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bushelandpeck](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bushelandpeck/gifts).



> For the prompt: “Small town AU! not sure if that’s really a Thing, but somehow incorporate that element.” Yeah, I know it’s probably confusing how it works with that summary. I hope you’d enjoy what I did eventually.
> 
> Also shout out to my lovely betas- Jade, Maria, and Vera. You guys have been incredibly helpful. xx
> 
> Side note - I changed the names of their parents since I thought it would be, uh, kinda awkward.

 

 

 

 

What happens here, stays here.  
(Just a friendly reminder.)

 

*****

 

The name Nevada comes from the word “snow clad” in Spanish, it is the common sense that has been embedded in every Nevadan kid’s brain ever since they took their first geography class. The Spanish dedicated the title in early nineteenth century to the silver white peak of the Sierra Nevada, which is confusing since the majority of its range is lying in the state of California. Especially for those who live in southern Clark County, snow is pretty much a myth that only appears in fairy tales.

When hearing the word “Nevada”, people are quick to visualize “WELCOME TO FABULOUS LAS VEGAS” neon signs and jazz music in the background. It is an obvious stereotype. Hot weather, dry air and the long extension of desert crossing over the foot of the state. Wild and fascinating.

Harry never finds his hometown as interesting as how people see it (and there’s definitely snow in the winter so fuck fairy tales). Miles down Route 95 there is nothing but the tedious views of sand, shrubs, rocks, sand, random gas stations and sand. And the sky is as blue as how he feels inside right now. People usually get a headache from strong wind and cold weather. But for Harry’s situation, it is the heat of 95°F that sets his brain on fire. Those green eyes behind his sunglasses narrow as the dazzling sunlight welcomes him at the end of the way.

This road trip is supposed to be exciting—after all, the purpose is meant to be exciting. Harry keeps repeating this in his head, expecting it would eventually bloom a happy smile on his face. Although after forty-five minutes of attempting, the only thing he can feel right now is the anxiety in his heart. He turns off the GPS in hopes of losing direction so that he could call his sister and apologize to her with a solid excuse. Harry’s prayer isn’t answered. Despite how much he tries to get lost, the familiarity is soon guiding him back to the correct route.

The last thing he wants to remember is always the first thing he never forgets.

Harry had always wondered who was going to be the first one to contact him after his five years of absence. And he had also tried to guess what kind of reasons could finally pull him back: his mother in a bad condition? His father showing up from nowhere? His sister getting married?

Well, somebody is _actually_ getting married, but it is not Gemma.

He nearly had a heart-attack when he picked up the phone and Gemma’s voice was on the other side. “Surprise, little bro.” his elder sister giggled nervously, taking a deep breath after a long pause, “Thanks for not hanging up the phone, I guess…how have you been?”

“Not too…bad.” Harry replied. His voice hoarsened.

“Glad to hear that. If you’re curious, I’m good too. Except- you know, same old shit. Anyway, how’s California? Have you been to San Francisco? The famous Lombard Street? God, I’ve always wanted to take a look. I heard the blossoms along the street side are so amazing.  What are those flowers? Roses? Do roses have that many colors-”

“Gem.” Harry interrupted as gently as he could, “You didn’t call me for the roses, did you?”

Harry crawled out of his sheets languidly while waiting for Gemma’s second long pause to end. His curtains blocked the glaring sunlight outside he could never tell what time of the day it was. He slid down his bed to get some water, letting the coolness stream down his veins before Gemma spoke again.

“Yeah, it was kinda hard to explain. I mean…no it wasn’t something bad. I did foresee this before. That wasn’t too hard to-”

“Gemma-”

“-Mom is getting married.”

 

*****

 

Harry found that people have some interesting stereotypes about him. For example, if he slept pass noon and missed classes, he would come to school the next day with rumors flying around, mainly from a story where he waited for a girl by the river bank overnight, but she never showed up; when actually all he did was stay up watching French movies in a row and forgetting about his essay.

It is funny yet baffling how people had romanticized every step made by him ever since he was only fourteen years old. But in this town whose name nobody cared about, how Harry’d like his eggs was the best topic to discuss after dinner.

Even Harry himself wasn’t sure how long this phenomenon had existed. After his baby fat gradually faded away from his cheeks, he began to notice that there would be girls gathering around the path on his way home, screeching in greeting. At first he always smiled and nodded, usually tripping over his own words (and the girls would giggle and disperse in a hubbub). Every time he brought up this question at the dining table, the reaction he received was always the same: his mother’s laughter and his sister’s eye rolling. He tried to seek for advice, but it only brought on the tragedy in which Gemma stuck her fork to the plate impatiently and spilled the whole dish of spaghetti onto Harry’s lap. After that he couldn’t help but start to miss his dad who had never come back to this little town in the middle of nowhere since he was twelve. Harry never asked about the reason why his dad left. All he knew was that he woke up one morning and saw Lorie lean on the sofa alone with her swollen eyes telling him that his dad was gone. Harry just nodded, as if his dad was only out for the regular jogging and would be back soon with two loaves of bread.

The story about his dad somehow added bonus credits to Harry and enveloped him in the image of a “little tragic prince”. It made him charming in the eyes of others, especially as he grew older. This was pretty baffling to him. Harry didn’t feel particularly sad about the fact that his father was not around. Honestly, eighteen years was enough for him to get really tired of every face in this tiny Nevadan town where the population was less than 800 people. And that made the absence of his father somewhat warm and lovely.

Even so, Harry still had the wisdom of the world. He was quite skillful in manners. Niall always complained about how stupid Harry was that he could be stabbed in the back ten times and he would turn around to teach the murderer how to properly use the knife. Harry only laughed in response.

Sometimes he’s really jealous of the “Harry” that everyone else could see but him. It sounded like a mutual acquaintance among all his friends, who was endearing and considerable. Harry had always tried to get along with this “friend”, giving him a friendly smile at the mirror every morning. But that smile could hardly last because it only reminded Harry how far it was between him and everyone’s imagination.

Niall had known him since they were seven, or even longer. Their first serious conversation was when Harry pointed out the name card on Niall’s backpack was misspelled as “Neil”, and the latter finally found out that he’d been spelling his name wrong for such a long time. From then on, Niall would bring his homemade cookies to Harry’s porch every morning waiting for him to go to school together. However, after Harry took Lorie’s advice and gave Niall some cupcakes in return, Niall suddenly announced that he’s giving up his baker dream because he “just realized he loved music more than everything.” That made a lot of kids in the school who had received Niall’s cookies really appreciate Harry. After all, Niall’s baking skill was hard to compliment. And this incident by some means built the base of Harry’s popularity in the town.

Harry had considered himself an optimist. He hadn’t like to play melancholy. In a town lacking of variation, there hadn’t been too many things that had distressed him. If boredom did cause illness, it could at least give him an excuse to wrinkle his eyebrows when chilling at the riverbank during the Sunday afternoon. Harry had had never been outside this town till he left for college. He hadn’t bothered to wonder where he could have been other than his hometown. Niall liked to chatter about his desire toward big cities all the time. And Harry would just shrug, claiming that he had a carefree soul for him to settle down wherever he went. However, somewhere in his mind, he had been suspicious of this conclusion. Even though he couldn’t tell what his doubt was.

Whenever Harry had showed that kind of expression, Niall would say he was just waiting for a turning point; a change, or an incidence. And then he would eventually stumble upon his opportunity. Harry had appreciated that. What he hadn’t said was that he hadn’t been really looking forward to a turning point. Generally, he wasn’t looking forward to anything.

Niall fulfilled his dream when they were sixteen. His family moved to Seattle before summer came. At the farewell party, Niall left Harry a photo of himself with his signature on it. “Ya know I’m gonna be so famous in the future!” The blond boy exclaimed, “So keep this in case you’re broke one day!” Harry burst into laughter, clutching his best friend with the tightest embrace he could give. “Send me postcards when you’re there.” Harry yelled while waving at the leaving truck. Niall stuck his head out, giving Harry a thumbs-up as a promise.  But he never did, not even a scrap of paper.

 

*****

 

Gemma’s dim figure could be seen in a distance when Harry’s car gradually approaches to the front garden. Harry takes a deep breath and practices a wonderful grin while parking his car. He is happy to meet his elder sister, really. But it isn’t easy for him to come up with any relevant conversation after purposely avoiding his family for 5 years.

Fortunately, the reunion isn’t as awkward as he supposed it would be. Gemma gives him a warm hug right after he gets off the car. “You’re finally here.” She leaves a kiss on his cheek excitedly, “How was the trip? Do you still remember the roads? I was even thinking that you’d end up in Texas or Louisiana!”

 _I was hoping so._ Harry swallows his thought and smiles, “Really? You genuinely think 5 years were enough to wash out my memories?” Harry tosses his keys in the air, catching them with the other hand then facing at Gemma again. “Hey…you were born here, Gemma. You knew the sorcery.”

“You make it sound like a curse, young boy.” Gemma narrows her eyes, giggling at his joke.

“Well, you can’t deny that.” Harry tilts his head and looks around the old house he used to spend his childhood in. The mottled walls carved by age still keep the doodles made by Niall and him when they were little. Harry remembers running around the house with his mother chasing madly behind because of those naughty marks, until he tripped himself over and smashed some handicrafts onto the floor. He was grounded for three weeks afterward.

“Where’s Lorie?” asked Harry.

Gemma shoots an admonitory glare at him, “You’re supposed to call her _Mom_ , Harry… She’s still at the restaurant. Don’t give me that look-she needs to arrange the tasks in the kitchen before she leaves for honeymoon, savvy?”

Harry ignores her, flashing his headlights with the car remote. Gemma rolls her eyes, crossing her arms at her little brother, “C’mon Harry, she misses you a lot. I’m sure they’d be back in a couple hours-“

“They?” Harry frowns, locking the car lamps at the high-beam position.

“Our soon-to-be stepfather, Mr. Khaleel Malik. Haven’t I told you already in the call?” Gemma raises one hand to block the light, creasing her eyebrows, “And his family too-“

“Hold there, he has a _family_?” Harry interrupts again in a louder tone.

Gemma jerks the front door open and turns at Harry impatiently, “Yes, a family. Don’t act as if our mom doesn’t have one, please. They came here from Illinois. Mr. Malik has a son and three daughters.” She raises three fingers to the air, “so for the sake of our mother- be kind to our new siblings ok?” She sighs as Harry shrugs off her scold.

“Illinois? How did they even meet in the first place?” Harry lowers his arm, turning off the lights eventually.

“I don’t know,” Gemma shakes her head, “I got a stylist job last autumn, after that I’ve been busy and rarely keeping up with Mom. I was as surprised as you were when I heard about the engagement.”

Harry snorts at her answer, “Are they seriously gonna get married? I mean, we don’t even know if Lorie actually divorced with Dad.”

“How ’bout you ask _Mom_ in person.” Gemma replies, digging her finger to his chest. “You hungry? Maybe I can make you some dinner before they come back,” She says nodding towards the kitchen, “Although you know that’s not my forte...” she adds with a little smile. “Maybe you’d rather walk around instead? I’m sure you’ve missed this place.”

“Yeah.” Harry can’t tell if that is a lie, “But I’d rather take a short break first. Just call me if you need help.” He throws his bag upon his shoulder, squeezing through the doorway to avoid Gemma’s questioning look at his casual baggage.

“How long are you planning to stay?” Gemma hollers before he scurries upstairs. Harry doesn’t answer.

 

*****

 

There were only three restaurants in town, and the Styles family owned the biggest one of all. _Johnny and Lorie’s_. That was the most delightful name in the town until Johnny Styles was no longer around. Before his name got wiped out from the board, Johnny had always been a model parent in little Styles’ mind. Johnny was a reserved person. Most of time, he preferred staying in the kitchen all day long to renew his recipes. Gemma never enjoyed cooking as much as her parents did. “Whatcha gonna do if you never do kitchen works? No guy marries a woman like that!” Lorie always grumbled when her daughter once again refused to prepare dinner with her. And Gemma would just roll her eyes at Lorie’s conservative concept and push all the responsibilities to her little brother instead.

Harry never complained about this. On the contrary, he found it pretty exciting every time his father pulled him into the kitchen and whispered, “Don’t tell your mom.” Johnny didn’t really approve of his wife’s “boys don’t need to do that!” theory, yet he never dared to quarrel with her. Therefore, Lorie Styles would never know that there was a small culinary class taking place in their kitchen every evening. Gemma would be the one accepting compliments from their mother for the perfect dishes presented in front of her, and then Harry would fist-bump with Johnny under the table.

Lorie was more talkative. Unlike her husband, she tended to stay outside the kitchen and with people by the bar. And she liked to nag. In Harry’s memories, she’s always nagging. “Don’t ever let me catch you cross your legs again, young lady. Harry, don’t lock yourself in the house all the time. Look at you, you’re almost paler than your sister.” And then Harry would stare at his father, who’s having his waffles quietly. “Listen to your mom, kids.” That’s the only response Johnny would ever give. But Harry never missed it when his father winked at him from behind the newspaper.

Although Lorie never found out who was the one putting in efforts behind, it didn’t really bother Harry that much. Johnny, however, was the one who felt sorry about the secret they shared. Sometimes Harry would find random Twix bars in his lunch bag with a note, “For the best cook in the town!” His father always said that he’d definitely become someone when he grew up. And when that moment came, Johnny would be the first one to stand up and applaud for him. Once or twice Harry did take it seriously. But Harry soon felt ashamed when he started seeking for his father in the crowd during his commencement of Berkeley Law. He knew it wouldn’t happen, just like Niall’s postcards.

Harry left his hometown at 19. It was breaking news- never had a kid in the town been accepted by any public university, not to mention UC Berkeley. It took his mother an entire week to recover from the shock and she even had to shut down her restaurant to get rid of the curious throng. Gemma kept making fun of the craze he brought up, but Harry could hardly laugh, for he had seen her weeping alone in her room. So before he left, Harry wrapped his arms around his sister’s trembling shoulders, promising he’d be back the next holiday. He didn’t realize how tricky it was until he crossed the border of Nevada and embraced the greasy sunlight of California. That was the moment he abandoned his vow.

His college life was crazy; even so he still graduated top ten of the class. Harry started his internship in a law firm after graduating. Lawyer was a bad career choice for him, according to Liam, his roommate in Berkeley. “No offense, Haz. But the whole jury would fall asleep before you can even make a point. You’re lucky that you still have your charm anyway, or else I can’t see how you’re gonna win a case.”

Harry could hardly protest. Despite his excellent grades in college, he was never a good debater when it came to the real world out of books. He blamed his slow speaking to his peaceful hometown, but no one was in charge of the pleonasm in his speech. “So, uh, basically, you know, um.” Harry once overheard his colleagues mocking his weird speaking habit in the common room. After one of the seniors asked where he was from, “The new kid from Nevada” had become Harry’s new office title. It wouldn’t be offensive if they didn’t continue treating him like a redneck living in the middle of the desert

“Why’d you want to be a lawyer?” was the last question of his job interview. It was predictable, but Harry forgot his answer immediately. So he just smiled. Maybe Liam was right; maybe charm was the only advantage he got.

 

*****

 

The last time Harry stepped into his room was five years ago. There hadn’t been many changes since he left for his new life in San Francisco. Gemma has been taking care of it during these years. The Packers poster on the wall is slightly fading. The little pot plan is still on the windowsill, even though Harry couldn’t remember if it is the same one in his memory. He drops his bag onto the floor, throwing his body onto the mattress.

Harry opens his eyes again an hour later when Gemma knocks on the door. He rolls to the other side to ease the backache from fatigue, staring at the ceiling absently. Ten minutes later when Gemma comes to his door again, Harry finally forces himself up reluctantly.

“Ugh, look at your hair.” Gemma frowns at his messy curls, “Spruce yourself up, sleeping beauty. Mom and the Malik’s are back, you’d better go downstairs as soon as possible. Hopefully we can finish dinner on time.”

“Have you considered,” Harry yawns with sleepy eyes, “that maybe you can greet them in the living room, and I’ll be in the kitchen-”

“No, Harry.” Gemma cuts his words ruthlessly, “I don’t care if I’m going to burn all the dishes. We both have things we aren’t good at. Be a man and face it. Besides, meeting your mom isn’t even a hard task.”

Harry pouts as Gemma shuts the door. He inspects himself in front of the dressing mirror, brushing his hair with his fingers. His fringe refuses to collaborate and keeps falling down from his forehead. Harry exhales at his reflection, blinking quickly from tiredness.

“Objection, your honor.” He murmurs.

The living room is already buzzing in joyful atmosphere before Harry enters. He steps back immediately as he feels anxiety climbing up his spine, but Lorie catches him before he can escape. Surprise and excitement expand across her face. “Oh my God, oh my God. Look who it is…oh my God.”

Harry bends over for Lorie to throw her arms around his neck. The fragrance of her perfume is all over his nape when she releases him from the hug. That was unfamiliar- she has never worn any perfume before. Harry leaves a soft kiss on Lorie’s forehead. She smells like jasmine.

“’s nice to see you being so lively, Mom.”

“Oh, it’s simply nice to see _you_ , my dear.” Lorie cups her hands around Harry’s chin, gazing at her son with misty eyes, “I’ve been dreaming for this moment for so long… Everyone in the town is missing you, sweetheart. I have so many stories to tell, and I can’t wait to hear some from you too! But before that, I should introduce you…”

Lorie extends her arm to the crew behind her. A tall man notices her sign, heading toward their direction. Harry nearly flinches as that man getting closer, not because of how scary the man looks, but because of the elegant attitude that is diffusing from him. This man reminds Harry of those clients coming to the office. They are all the same; gorgeous hair, expensive suits, crystal watches, shiny leathers shoes, and cunning eyes that wouldn’t even lay on Harry as he brought the tea in.

“Good to meet you, Harry. My name is Khaleel Malik.” The man reaches out one hand and grins at him. His voice sounds familiar.

“It’s my pleasure, Mr. Malik.”

“I hope this won’t be too abrupt,” says Mr. Malik gently, “You must be really shocked at our engagement, I’m supposed to apologize for this. You don’t need to hide your feelings if this makes you uneasy.”

Harry is so speechless that he can only nod clumsily at Mr. Malik’s mild voice. On the sofa there are three girls squeezed together, waving shyly as they notice Harry’s sight. Before they make further introduction, the conversation is then interrupted by Gemma’s scream from the kitchen.

“I can’t believe she screwed it up again!” Lorie exhales in a huff, rushing to the kitchen while muttering at Harry. “She used to be good at cooking. Dunno what happened after you left, darling, you must have strong influence on her…”

“Girls, you should give a hand.” Mr. Malik hastens his daughters, and then turns around at Harry again. “That was a pity. Perhaps you can talk to them later? Looks like our dinner will be postponed.” He glimpses at Harry, “If you don’t mind, would you like to show my son around? Zayn- he’s in the garden. I don’t allow him to smoke inside. He’s probably a little bit bored now.”

Even though Harry really wants to excuse himself, he soon realizes that there aren’t too many choices for him. He goes back to his room to get his jacket, and then takes a quick peep behind his window. There is a guy in the garden, lowering his head with a cigarette between his fingers. Harry knits his brows when he notices that guy is leaning on Harry’s car. _Get away from my Ford Mustang Coupe._

He goes downstairs in a hurry, gasping in order to maintain his politeness. The guy doesn’t notice Harry approaching to him, blowing out another puff leisurely. “Hey.” Harry utters abruptly, unpleasant tone. The guy raises his head slowly.

Both of them freeze.

 

*****

 

Harry was never a party animal. That kind of potential was not naturally running in his blood. However, he did have the potential to be a great imitator. That’s what people said, you fake it till it’s real.

Partying was not a necessary trait for a college student either. But Harry wouldn’t call this stereotype a myth before he tried its taste in the flesh. So it happened, when he found himself passed out in the backseat of a limo with beer cans scattering around, shirt unbuttoned and his belt missing somewhere. He hadn’t bothered to figure out where his belt had gone to, just like he hadn’t been interested in the identities of the boys and girls around him.

To a curious little boy who was eager to dabble into the unknown, Liam was such a good instructor; rich kid from Los Angeles, with cool friends and fancy terms for mixology. Harry never recognized a brand mentioned by Liam, but he played it well. He played it so well that nobody believed he was actually from a random small town in southern Nevada.

Harry met this guy at Liam’s 22nd birthday party. He was still sober enough to watch that dark haired boy walking straight toward his seat at the bar. The reflection of the disco ball was visible in his hazel eyes. The guy took a seat on the high chair in front of Harry, jutting his chin at Harry’s empty glass.

“Do I have the pleasure to buy you a drink?” he smirked.

“What’d you do if I say no?” Harry giggled, feeling the pounding in his chest.

“You won’t. So the answer is unessential anyway.”

Harry laughed even louder, biting his lower lip to control the quirky sound he made while slowly getting tipsy. The heat in the pub was rising, and Harry could feel his blood boiling underneath his skin. “Are you Liam’s friend?”

The stranger shrugged, knocking his finger on the bar table as he watched Harry taking his shot. “Could be, it’s up to you, Curly.”

“Curly?” Harry chuckled, “Well, you can call me-”

“Wow there, baby.” The guy bent over, pressing his index finger on Harry’s lips. “No name is required tonight. If you want to be remarkable, then you have to be creative.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harry smiled. His thin shirt was getting sweaty under the temperature.

The guys traveled his finger down to Harry’s collarbones, breathing beside Harry’s ear. “It means I’m gonna fuck you in the restroom. Twice, from behind, if you do it well.”

In the end Harry didn’t even finish the shot. He was ashamed, because just like that guy said- he was _so_ impatient. He wanted to be memorable, but not as a naive boy thirsty for a one night stand. He felt so gross and vulnerable, and the guilty pleasure burning inside wasn’t helping him with the nerve.

His back was against the ice-cold wall, while the heat between his thighs was getting out of control. The guy placed his palms on Harry’s hipbones, pressing his lips against Harry’s bare waistline. Harry’s jeans slid down to his ankles as the guy took him whole in, playing skillfully with his tongue. It was like a thunderstorm, a heart attack, and thousands of bullets dashing through his veins. Harry could already sense the pain before anything entered him. Harry panted for more air, but the whole room was about to run out of oxygen.

“You alright, baby?” The guy mumbled, teasingly. It sounded like miles away, yet it was close enough for Harry to lose everything embarrassingly quick. Harry whimpered in reply, that was the only sound he could make. He didn’t want to resign himself so fast; he didn’t want to resign himself to a nameless guy he just met 30 minutes ago. The more he tried to recollect his thoughts, the more hopeless he felt.

Harry tried twisting his body around, hoping to slow themselves down. But it only brought on the opposite effect. The guy pushed forward, having no sympathy for Harry’s situation, which made Harry hate both of them more. It was in a hurry, despite how Harry tried to last it longer. The guy slowly pushed in deeper, biting Harry’s shoulder as he let out a little groan. Harry was upset, even though he couldn’t help craving for more.

“Slow…down, please...”

“Excuse me?” The guy asked delightedly, sucking Harry’s earlobe for another whine from Harry’s throat. “You don’t like it, baby? You want me to stop?”

Harry cried out a little, angrily. “Fuck. Hell no.”

Once again Harry despised himself for how easily he fell for the trap. That was the exact reaction as the guy was waiting for. It only got faster and harsher after Harry’s attempt at begging. And then it began. The ecstasy was like a knife slicing down his entire body. It was so rough and painful that Harry let out a single tear down his flushed cheek. The warmth of that guy was still hanging over his skin and Harry didn’t want it to vanish into the air. It was his moment. He was not ready to let it go in a bustle.

Well, but he didn’t actually expect it would ever come back, not even in _this way_.

 

*****

 

Harry always drives fast.

It is not like he’s an impatient person. But it has been a bad habit since he first found himself inside a metal vehicle, pedaling down and he would be miles away before he knows it. “No one is chasing us, Harry!” Liam always screams when given a ride, seizing the handle with one hand as the other desperately draws a cross in front of his chest. All Harry does is turn the radio up, humming along to the tune as he rushes down another three blocks.

“You’re a dangerous driver.”

Harry shoots a fierce glare to the man in the passenger seat, who is resting his arm on the car door. The wind wafts in from the open window and messes Harry’s fringes up. He pushes his long hair back as they flap around his cheeks, speeding up the car with only one hand on the wheel.

“If you insist on driving like that, we’ll either finish this tour in ten minutes or we both die at the end of the road.”

Harry snorts. That’s probably the first sound he has made during this ride, “That could be a better ending for us.”

Zayn turns his head around. There is a vague smile on his face, with his mouth drawn in an uncertain angle. “Are you really _that_ mad about this, _baby_?”

“Stop using that nasty term.” Harry gnaws on his words. The traffic light has turned red, but Harry ignores it. Zayn chuckles at his anger, arranging his hair on the side mirror. “I honestly don’t know what is bothering you so much,” says Zayn calmly, “the fact that our parents are getting married or the fact we’ve fucked before?”

“Maybe you should just, like, look at the scenery and stop talking.” Harry grunts, narrowing his eyes at the sunset.

“That was the original intention of this ride, but you didn’t give me much of a choice.” Zayn sniffs, playing with the door lock. Harry stays quiet. He doesn’t even know why he is even in the car with Zayn now. He should’ve driven back to San Francisco right away when he spotted him in the front yard. It is a sign. It is _karma_ crawling to him.

Harry slows down the pace, not because he has calmed down from his madness, but his racing heart is causing his hands to sweat so much that he can hardly control the car. Zayn is scanning those petty houses along the road, as if he is actually fond of the old country style. _Chicago kid_ , Harry thinks. Life with skyscrapers and neon lights can never be found in this timeless town that looks exactly the same as what it was twenty years ago.

“I’ve been living in L.A. on my own for a while.” Zayn speaks out of blue, not even checking if Harry is listening, “I got a call from my dad three weeks ago, telling me he’s engaged. I thought it was a joke, that he just wanted me to go back home… and I was kinda wishing those were his plans.”

“That was until I met my family at the airport.” Zayn continues, “He told me we were going to…uh…what is the name of this town again?” Zayn turns to Harry who seems to be frozen, “Anyway, it still sounded like a joke to me. No offense, but I didn’t think this place actually existed. Doniya – my sister – told me that my father met your mother while he’s driving to Las Vegas, and his car broke down in the middle of the trip. He went for miles for help, and the sign of your mother’s restaurant was the first light he saw.”

Harry makes a grimace immediately, “Sounds like those Hollywood movies from 80s.”

“You don’t believe the story?”

“I don’t care at all. I’m going back to California right after this shit is done,” says Harry pursing his lips, “I just hope she really divorced my father or you’ll see me in a few months in court pleading against her bigamy.”

Zayn leans back, sneering, “Oh yeah, your mother told me you’re a lawyer.” He pauses, purposely, “No wonder you disagree with everything.”

“I don’t. I’m just being impersonal. So I can view things as a whole.” Harry is fed up with this conversation, especially when he sees Niall’s old house in the corner. A flame of anger blazes underneath his lungs. Harry turns the car left and almost bumps into the fire hydrant on the sidewalk. He utters something before Zayn starts to complain. “Speaking of disagree, didn’t your mother say anything about this marriage?”

“I couldn’t ask for her opinion. She’s gone.”

“My father too.” Harry mutters in contempt, “They just, disappeared one day as they wanted.”

Zayn eyes him coldly, laughing at Harry in a rough tone. “Yeah, may she rest in peace.”

It was a long silence.

Suddenly, Harry can feel embarrassment creep up on him, as his cheeks turn red. He’s been awfully blunt. He’s overcome with a mix of emotions: shame, compassion, guilt... but most of all irritation. Nevertheless, the feelings wither down when they pass by Lorie’s restaurant. It is crowded with residents like always. His sentiment is replaced by vacancy.

“Why did you move to California?” Harry asks, trying to divert the topic.

It takes Zayn a long moment to react that Harry even wonders if he’s meant to neglect him, “well,” Zayn answers eventually, rearing up the car window, “Chicago is nice. But sometimes you need to distance yourself from what you’re familiar with. I’m a DJ at a local club, and sometimes I travel with my crew too. Well, that’s how I met you in Berkeley.”

Harry pretends he doesn’t hear it.

“I have a wild time there. Even though my dad isn’t really happy with the decision I made. I do Skype my family sometimes, but only come home, like, twice a year.” Zayn keeps on, facing the windshield, “He says I’m disloyal to my character.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Harry disputes. But Zayn is more curious about something else, “Are you driving us back? I haven’t been anywhere here.”

“Nothing is worth visiting in this town.” said Harry exhaustedly, “Unless you wanna spend hours looking at grocery stores or the river, there’s no such fun to discover here.”

Zayn twists his head immediately, “There’s a river?”

“Nobody’d like to visit that damn river, trust me.” Harry rolls his eyes, “It’s the most lifeless place here. We don’t even bother to give it a name. It’s just ‘the river’.”

The sun is nearly missing from the horizon. Zayn gasps when the last glow wanes from his face, “Does it ever get boring, being this hateful?”

Harry contains his temper, deciding not to say another word till this trip ends. However, Zayn brings up another question when the Styles house is within their sight.

“You know why I picked you at the bar?”

It is unexpected to the situation. Harry doesn’t really want to talk about it, so he tosses his wry answer. “’cause you wanted to fuck me?”

“Part of the reason.” Zayn gives out a dry laugh, “But the thing is, I thought you were the kind of person who’s loyal to their character. I suppose I was wrong.”

 

*****

 

The disaster in the kitchen has been dealt with when they return home. When Harry steps into the dining room, the table has been full of bountiful dishes. Gemma gives him an awkward smile when their mother turns around to collect tableware. Harry sits down next to his sister. Zayn is three plates away from him, feeling uneasy in a stranger’s house.

Gemma and Zayn’s sisters become friends pretty fast, probably because of the earlier incident. Gemma laughs a little louder at Waliyha’s joke than what is allowed in their dinner time, which draws Lorie’s warning glare. Harry can’t help but beam a shallow smile on his face. Lorie has strict table rules, but she soon gives up her insistence when the young girls’ laughter infects the entire atmosphere. She breaks through her reserve as soon as Gemma mentions the wedding in two days. According to Lorie, there won’t be a solemn ceremony, but a lovely lunch feast in the garden with only a few of their close friends. And when she turns her head at Harry, asking how he has been in California, Harry’s mind drifts away to that job interview, sitting in the middle of the broad room alone and wondering the same question that he’s just been asked: _why’d you want to be here?_

Mr. Malik keeps quiet most of the time, only nods and smiles when Lorie brings him up in the conversation. So does his only son. Harry takes a furtive glance at Zayn, who is cringing in the corner of the tiny dining room and staring at the home-cooking uncertainly. Sensing Harry’s sight, Zayn lowers his head and takes a wary sip of his soup. Apparently he doesn’t really enjoy the country food. Another smirk spreads across Harry’s face that he needs to put some bread into his mouth to hold the urge to giggle. He knows Zayn notices it, even though both of them are avoiding eye contact. And he knows Zayn is still upset at him, even though that feeling is mutual.

The night falls promptly. Harry is feeling a little bit moody under the sultry weather. He doesn’t really want to talk to anyone, but there isn’t really any place for him to escape. The girls are out for a walk. Lorie and Mr. Malik are staying in the living room together. Harry’d like to hide inside his room again, but the dry air can’t keep himself steady.

The wooden floor cools him down as he trots down the stairs barefoot. Harry walks into the kitchen, reaching a teapot on the top of the cabinet. It is not the best weather for a cup of hot tea, but making tea can always soothe his emotions. Harry raises his head as the water starts boiling, and he notices the light on the porch is turned on. He sighs slightly and looks at the empty tea cups on the table for a long while, grabbing two of them in the end.

Zayn frowns immediately when he sees Harry pushing the door open with two teacups in his hands. He puts down the book on his thighs, watching Harry’s face flush in embarrassment. “What?” asks Harry uncomfortably, putting down the cups on the table next to Zayn’s chair.

“What’s that for?” Zayn points at the tea with his chin.

Harry shrugs, almost spilling the hot water on his hand. “I think there’s better way for us to interact than hating on each other.”

Zayn sneers, “Ok, then what in the world is it anyway?”

“Lemongrass. It is good for a hot day like this. It helps cool your body down.” He answers while huddling himself up in another chair. But when he turns his head, he sees Zayn’s face fill with disgust.

“Lemongrass?” gasps Zayn with aversion, “How old are you, eighty? Who the hell on Earth actually drinks this?”

Harry gasps at Zayn’s unbelievable answer as well, “And who the hell on Earth hates lemongrass?”

“There is one in front of you.” Zayn pulls his attention back to his book. Harry feels like there is fire around his neck, so he sits back and grabs his cup unhappily, glaring at the starry sky that he hasn’t seen for ages. He sips his tea loudly as revenge. Although the hot water burns his lips and he has to hold the urge not to let the tears fall down from his eyes. So Harry gives up, putting the cup back onto the table. The night breeze brushes through his long hair. He strengthens his bare legs in his short pants to fight back the drowsy air.

“You’re sexier when you’re not an asshole.”

Zayn’s voice breaks the silence and Harry nearly falls from his chair when he tries to hide his yawn. Harry supports himself up, staring at Zayn, whose eyes still lock on his book.

“Are you flirting with me?” Harry whispers, raising one of his eyebrows, “your future _stepbrother_?”

“Why, I thought I was being offensive.”

Harry snorts, “By calling me sexy?”

“Nope. That means you’re just nothing but an attractive asshole.” Zayn shuts his book, turning around to pinch the handle of his cup with two fingers. He frowns at the smoking surface, and then puts the cup back. Harry gives him a dry laugh. Zayn adjusts his position, and then throws his book on the floor. “Well you were really sexy. I mean, I don’t always remember everyone I’ve fucked. And you looked smart.”

“I looked smart?” Harry widens his eyes and chuckles, “Smartly sexy? Are you looking for people who moan astronomy facts when they hit orgasm?”

Zayn ignores him and continues, “You looked like you knew what the fuck you were doing. But unfortunately, that wasn’t true. Not even close.”

“Oh,” Harry lies back to his chair, curling his hair with his finger. “As if you do know what _you_ are doing.”

“I don’t. But at least I’m honestly about it.”

“Are you implying that I’m a liar?”

A small piece of leaf falls from the roof, dropping down elegantly to Zayn’s cup. Zayn picks it up and tosses it into Harry’s tea. “A pretty little liar, yeah.”

“Very funny.” Harry crosses his arms and stares at the leaf floating in the water, “I’d say that’s a gift, because that’s what lawyers do. Be charming, and lie. That’s why we are assholes.”

“You are an asshole, but not a good lawyer.” Zayn replies curtly.

Harry narrows his eyes, “what gives you that idea?”

“Good lawyers don’t make people see their intentions.” Zayn leans over, dipping one finger into Harry’s cup and stirs slowly. The little leaf follows his path and spins around. “But you, are so easy to read, even when you try to lie about it. It’s like covering a spot with a magnifier.”

“So, what’s my intention then? Mr. Witty-words.” Harry holds his cheek and asks.

Zayn stops his action, raising his eyes at Harry abruptly. Harry nearly obeys the strike in his chest and looks away. He clenches the armrest with his left hand, attempting to slow down his heartbeat. And then Zayn beams a smile that only exists for a second.

“You’re so eager to be someone else.” Zayn says in a low tone, “that’s not something bad. But at the same time, you purposely push away your old self as if he never existed. Wait, you not only just push it away, you literally _hate_ on it. Unfortunately, you didn’t become a new person, you just pretend to be.”

“Or maybe I’m just growing up?” Harry sniffs.

“By skipping steps? That’s not how it works, baby.”

Harry’s spine shivers when he hears the word “baby”. He takes a deep breath and pulls his body backward, smiling gently, “You really have a lot of comments about me.”

“Not everyone gets to fuck their stepbrother. I need to figure out what kind of person brought me here.” Zayn shrugs, standing up to pick up his book. Harry laughs coldly, “Will you still fuck me, after this bullshit?”

Harry hears the book drop again, and then it’s Zayn’s voice. “Are you seducing me?”

“Well, you disapproved my personality,” Harry blinks his eyes, replying in a breezy tone, “but you didn’t say shit about my bed skills.”

“You’re so full of yourself.” Zayn shakes his head, turning around to face Harry. He walks forward, pressing his palm against Harry’s chair and looking down at Harry’s half-naked thighs. “Will you ever take me to that river?”

The unexpected question makes Harry roll his eyes impatiently, “Can’t you stop giving a damn about that river?”

But Zayn just bends over, whispering beside Harry’s ear, “if you bring me to that river, I will fuck you right there. Along the bank. Or against the tree, hopefully there is one.”

Before entering the house, Zayn’s hand stops with his hand on the doorknob.

“And of course, from behind. Twice, if you do it well.”

 

*****

 

Harry wakes up at eight the next day, refusing to leave his comfy room until ten. He almost bumps into Gemma at the staircase. His sister was already well dressed with her make-up on.

“Get some clothes on! We have guests at home, don’t be so sloppy.” Gemma frowns at his tanktop and shorts, while Zayn walking by behind her in the same look. “Mom left some sandwiches in the kitchen, but I’m sure you can make better breakfast than that,” says Gemma while adjusting her ponytail absently, “The girls and I are gonna spend a day in town. Mom and Mr. Malik are probably at the restaurant or preparing their wedding. Any plan for today?”

Harry yawns and shakes his head, watching Zayn wander around the room raising his laptop up at every corner. “Did you tell him there’s no Wi-Fi in our house?”

Gemma turns around, looking at Zayn with sympathy in her eyes. “Maybe you can take him out for a walk, so he doesn’t need to feel this bored.”

“I did yesterday.” Harry protests.

“It must have been a tedious trip,” Gemma sneers, opening her bag to check on every item she needs, “he seemed pissed off when you guys came home last night. Did you say anything stupid?”

Harry tilts his head, wondering how his sister will react if he confesses the story of Zayn and him to her. “Welllll, I guess we’re good now anyway.”

“Oh really? Wonderful! That means you can definitely take him out, right?” Gemma raises her brow, flinging her bag with her shoulder fiercely and almost flip the lamp beside her. Harry catches the lamp before it hits the floor, and then gives a tired smile to the Malik girls as they walk out of the room.

“Is everything alright?” asks Doniya.

“Yes, Harry just told me he’s gonna spend his day with your brother.” Gemma answers before Harry can utter a word. Her voice is so loud that it catches Zayn’s attention. He faces Harry, who is widening his eyes while holding a silly lamp. Harry glares back as Zayn mouths “Really?” with a smirk. Their sisters haven’t noticed their interaction. Zayn’s little sister Safaa asks where they are going, but Harry chooses to stare at the framed pictures on the wall instead of answering. His father is still in the photo with a wide grin on the face, and his eight-year-old self has a ridiculous haircut.

The girls leave the house in a few minutes. Harry walks into the kitchen and grabs a piece of toast on the table. When he steps into the living room again, Zayn has already given up on his laptop, crossing his arms and looking at Harry.

“So,” Zayn asks cheerfully, “where should we go then?”

Harry gives him a sharp look, sinking his body into the sofa. “I dern wanna gur urnywhere.” He murmurs as the toast dangling between his lips. Zayn laughs, tearing the other half of the toast off Harry’s teeth then putting it into his mouth. “It was you who said there’s a better way for us to interact.” Zayn chews slowly and ignores Harry’s death glare, “Also, s'good to go outside in such a beautiful day. Quit being so grumpy.”

“Gem and your sisters might go to grocery stores or clothing shops, but I don’t see you’ll be interested in them.” Harry swallows his piece, leaning himself to the armrest. He pillows his head on his arm, watching Zayn move his body closer.

“The one who disapproves of this idea is you, not me.” Zayn whispers, dancing his fingertips upon Harry’s legs.

“Why won’t you give me a break?” Harry whines and buries his face into his palms. Zayn chuckles pleasantly at his reaction, slowly drifting his fingers to the edge of Harry’s pants. “More like you give yourself a break, baby.”

Harry looks up at Zayn with his sleepy eyes, exhaling slightly and then sweeping Zayn’s hand away. He rubs his eyes and mutters, “Fine. Where the fuck do you want to go then?”

Zayn shrugs with a winner’s grin, “wherever you take me to.”

The weather is nice just like what Zayn indicated. Maybe a little bit too nice. Harry lets out a reluctant groan as he drives down the street. He left his sunglasses in the pocket of his jacket, which is now hung inside the wardrobe of his room. Zayn jokingly suggests that they should visit the river in this case, and Harry almost runs over an old lady crossing the road.

They stop by a pawnshop in the beginning of the trip, because Harry claims that it has the best air-con in the town. However, when he pushes the door and hears the buzz of an old electric fan, he soon realizes that fantastic machine had already been put into the grave when he was away from his hometown. Harry is about to turn away, but the mid-aged shop owner recognizes him right away. He exclaims loudly (“HENRY!”) and trots forward to embrace Harry with a vehement grasp. While Zayn casually appreciates the antiques on the shelf, Harry is forced to listen to Richard’s tedious story about his daughter Monika whom Harry doesn’t even remember. When they finally leave the shop, Richard gives him a broken watch as a gift. Harry throws it into the glove compartment immediately as Zayn giggles loudly next to him.

“Will you shut the fuck up?” Harry gnashes with a flush on his cheeks.

Zayn whistles along the music on the radio, “Don’t be such a spoiler, Henry.”

The weather keeps making them sweat like a shower, and Harry’s long hair is setting his nape on fire. He parks the car in front of a grocery store, coming back with two Coca-Cola cans and a hair tie in his hands. Zayn leans against the car door, sipping his coke quietly while watching Harry roll his hair up into a bun. He wiggles his eyebrows when Harry turns around.

“What? The weather is intolerable!” Harry frowns and bites his straw.

“I wasn’t judging you, Rapunzel.” Zayn shrugs, taking another gulp of his drink, “Just thought that was kinda incredible.”

“That was—what?”

Zayn rolls his eyes, tossing the empty can into the nearest trash bin. “Seriously,” he strengthens his body and sighs while Harry pouts confusedly, “You need to learn how to take criticism and compliments better.”

They have their lunch in a restaurant couple blocks away from Lorie’s, which is much smaller and only served with 20 tables. Even though Harry tries to hide his face behind the menu, Mrs. Stewart still drops her pen from her hand with a dramatic gasp when she hears his voice. After kissing Harry on the cheek twice, she finally lets go the boy who is eight inches taller than her and insists on giving them a treat.

“I didn’t know you were that popular.” Zayn smirks, holding his jaw as he watches Harry walk back to their seat.

Harry mumbles faintly, too tired to protest. The dusty fan spinning slowly above him is making him drowsy. He loosens the tie to rearrange his bun, but only makes his hair fall down and spread all over his forehead. He blows out a frustrated breath, catching Zayn’s gaze of fondness behind his messy fringe.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Harry knows he must be blushing hopelessly right now. And he hates himself for this.

“Because you’re cute.” Zayn replies in polished tone that makes Harry want to throw the glass on the table in his face, “After watching you act like a proper asshole it’s good to see you become endearing again.”

“If you think flattering me will convince me to—”

“Bring us to the river? You will, eventually.” Zayn winks, taking an elegant sip from his water, “And you will beg me to fuck you right there.”

Harry bites his lips to ease the urge to scream. He takes a quick look at the tables around them, but no one is paying attention to what they are talking about. He twists his head back, staring at Zayn who is choking on his water because of his reaction.

“You’ve literally been treating me as a joke since the very beginning.” Harry pouts and waits for Zayn to stop giggling breathlessly, “what’s so funny about me?”

“Uhmm,” Zayn finally catches his breath again and shrugs, “well, you’re an amusing individual, Harry. That’s not because you’re silly—sort of, though—” he cackles at Harry’s sulky face, “Your mind is an interesting place, and you do have a lot of great stories. But sometimes you exaggerate them, which makes you look like an emo teenager.”

Harry narrows his eyes, “So you mean I’m a book written in cliché.”

“You are. But that doesn’t make you a bad book. And you know, people love cliché.” Zayn opens his palm, putting down each finger as he counts, “Pop art, fashion shows, Twilight, Billboard Top 50, MacDonald’s, they are all parts of it. But they are endearing, because they are much easier to understand. And you should stop seeing that as a bad thing.”

Their conversation has a brief break when Mrs. Stewart interrupts with their plates. Harry stares at his waffles, not really having any appetite. He stirs his milk tea absently, and then looks at Zayn again after Mrs. Stewart leaves.

“So do you like it?” Harry asks in a stained pitch. He frowns as soon as he hears his own voice, but Zayn seems to not notice it.

“Like what?”

Harry clears his throat and shrugs, “Cliché, of course.”

It takes Zayn a moment to react, with his mouth half-open in search of a relevant answer. And few seconds later, he gives Harry a profound grin, “Generally, it is adorable to me. As long as it’s not a nonsense one, like lemongrass tea.”

Harry stops stirring and pouts, “Is that a sarcasm?”

“If you think I’m talking about you, no.” Zayn answers leisurely, raising his glass at Harry, “you are the adorable one.”

For the first time in a long while, Harry realizes how much he had missed the feeling of blooming a real smile.

 

*****

 

The girls were already home by the time Harry and Zayn came back. Gemma is too busy to notice Harry walk into the kitchen. She bumps into his chest as she turns around and knocks over the entire tray of coconut macaroons.

“I swear things always go wrong when I’m in the kitchen.” Gemma curls up her lips with vexation, kneeling down to pick up the small cakes. “I hope your day didn’t mess up like this though, was it all good?”

Harry bends over to give her a hand, tilting his head as he tries to come up with a response, “Not bad, I guess.” Harry murmurs while placing the macaroons on the tray. Gemma raises one of her eyebrows, “That is an unclear answer.” She wipes the floor, eyeing her little brother askance, “I don’t know what you feel about this marriage, but I need you to be happy for our mother. At least pretend to be happy in front of her.”

“I never say I’m not happy.” Harry retorts mildly. Gemma glances at him, narrowing her eyes in suspicion. Harry sighs and looks at her with a gentle smile, “Ok, ok. To be honest, how do I convince you?”

Gemma sneers, putting the plate onto the kitchen island. “Well, since we just ruined our desserts for tomorrow’s wedding, maybe you can help us fixing this emergency. Can you?”

Harry widens his eyes at her. “Serious-”

“A deal is a deal. You know it’s a piece of cake to you.” Gemma laughs, patting Harry’s shoulder smugly. “You will impress them, little boy.”

There isn’t much space for Harry to argue. On the other hand, he isn’t trying to argue either. Gemma returns to arrange their dinner afterward. Her deal with Harry brightens up her mood promptly. She sets up the oven while humming to an old country ballad, even though the lyrics are completely wrong.

Harry wants to stay in the kitchen, but Gemma kicks him out by wielding a pan in her hand. She insists that he should spend more time with his future siblings. Harry has no choice but walking into the living room reluctantly with his hands inside his pockets. He huddles himself up on the sofa, watching Waliyha and Safaa showing off the souvenirs they bought for theirelder brother. Zayn creases his brows as he looks at the wool felt ornament, not sure what kind of animal it is supposed to be. He lifts his head when he senses Harry’s gaze, shaking his head behind his sisters and then looking at Harry again with a wry smile. Harry can feel his cheeks flaming.

Lorie and Khaleel come home rather late and finish their dinner in a hurry. Her gown didn’t return from the dressmaker until today, and she is desperate to try it on. The Malik girls volunteer to be assistants immediately. Doniya winks at Gemma as the Styles siblings sneak into the kitchen to continue their mission.

It has been a while since Harry did real kitchen work. He owns a modern apartment with a decent kitchen in San Francisco, but his busy job ends up keeping him away from his expensive kitchenware. Gemma probably has already guessed it. She keeps peeking at Harry while whisking the cream.

“I honestly don’t understand your magic.” Gemma makes a jealous purr when she sees Harry taking the cookies out of the oven. “Like I’ve always known you’re an expert in this. But every time you show off your tricks, you never fail to astound me.”

Harry feels a little overwhelmed by his sister’s compliment. He looks around and changes the topic smoothly, “how many guests will be here tomorrow? I was wondering if we have enough cups and plates.”

His question actually draws Gemma’s attention. She puts down the bowl and starts counting the items in the cabinet. “I don’t think the Benson’s will come. But we shouldn’t risk it.” She puts two fingers against her chin and frowns, “Would you check out the attic? I think Grandma’s old tea set is still there. It’s time to get it out of dust again.”

Harry nods, putting the tray away and going upstairs. A series of loud laughter comes out from Lorie’s room, Harry can’t tell which girl it is. He takes a quick glimpse at the door. Zayn is isolating himself on the porch again.

The attic is a place that Harry rarely Harry rarely visited, even during his childhood. Gemma sometimes locked herself up there when she felt distressed. But it usually took her less than ten minutes to climb down the ladders with her face flushing and sweaty out of heat.

That is probably part of the reasons why Harry never had any interest in the mystery place that is right above the ceiling of his room. Especially after Lorie started using it to store the stuff his father left behind, Harry had been more willing to stay away from it.

Harry climbs through the trap door, blinking his eyes to adjust the darkness in the room. The small attic is full of boxes in different sizes without any tag or mark on them. Harry doesn’t remember where the light switch is. He sighs to himself slightly, examining every box attentively.

He soon realizes that the boxes aren’t even arranged in any order. After only a few minutes of searching, Harry is already bathed in sweat. The air in the attic is getting sultry and driving him impatient. He shoves a box full of his old clothes back to the corner, accidentally striking over a small case on his left side with his elbow. A pile of envelopes spills all over the floor. Harry lets out a protesting groan, stretching his arm to the letters wearily. But his hand stops in the air when the letters on the scribble on the envelopes are suddenly so distinct.

Those letters were sent to him.

His mouth is half-open with shock and confusion. Harry rubs his eyes, trying to figure out if the dim light and heat in the attic is creating mirage in his eyes. But that doesn’t scrub off the inks on those letters. He kneels down to pick them up one by one. All the addresses are directed to the same place, an apartment in Lower Queen Anne, Seattle.

It feels like someone just ducked his head into ice water.

His entire body is toppling forward. Harry balances himself with one hand against the wall, panting rapidly as he closes his eyes and finds himself at the deepest level of the ocean. The envelopes crumble in his fist, and then slide down from his fingers when he loosens his hand with a long exhaling. He holds his head, counting his breath while slowly opening his eyes. The letters are still scattering in front of him. Harry stares at them with hesitation. The situation doesn’t need to get any worse. He doesn’t need to fuddle himself with one more negative thought. He needs to just go back to the kitchen as soon as possible because Gemma is probably stomping her foot wondering when he will come back with the tea set they need.

But he still does it in the end. Harry reaches the letters, tearing them open with trembling hands.

 

_DearEST HAROLD,_

_My room is still in a mess, I haven’t put on my shirt yet and I can hear Mommy hollering outside my door. But I just can’t wait to share everything I’ve experienced so far ! OH WAIT - I forgot to ask you if you are all good ! Forgive me haha ! HOW ARE YA? Man I fucking miss you, LIKE A LOT, AS MUCH AS THE ICE CREAM I CAN HAVE IN A HOT SHIT DAY LIKE THIS. …_

_DEAAARRR HAAROLD,_

_Sorry I sound high as shit ! (Ooo marijuana’s legal here but you didn’t hear that from me!) How’s my curly fella doing? Can’t wait to write another letter before I get any from ya haha. hmu with the news in the town mate ! …_

_Dear Horreeh,_

_I hope I’m not bothering you with these desperate letters haha. If you’re too lazy to write I can understand ! My dad bought me a computer. I hope Lorie will get you one soon ! You can email me if you want: nialljhoran.93@gmail.com …_

_Dear Harry,_

_HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YA. HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YA. HAPPY 17TH BIRTHDAY TO DEAR HAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRY. HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YAAAAAA. I hope it arrives on time haha. Anything good with our big boi? Looking forward to hear from ya sometime ! …_

 

“Fuck you.” Harry finds himself wailing, “Fuck you, Lorie. Fuck you.”

It was too late when he found himself trotting down the stairs to Lorie's room. The girls are startled by the sound when he thrusts the door open. Waliyha is about to say something, but Harry’s face frightens her away. Lorie hasn’t put on her gown yet. She turns around from her dressing mirror immediately when she hears the loud noise Harry makes. She gawps at her furious son with fear, and then looks down at the letters in Harry’s arms. Her necklace drops from her hand as she covers her mouth in shock, flinching while clutching the edge of the table.

“What is _this_?” Harry throws one of the letters into the air, voice trembling, “This? This? And this?”

Lorie presses her chest, gasping without a word. Doniya grabs her sisters’ shoulders and pushes them out of the room, leaving an afraid look at the mother and son behind her. Harry can also hear Gemma’s worried voice in a distance. But he doesn’t bother to care.

“How long have you been hiding them from me?” Harry wheezes. Every word spoke by him is like a bullet, hitting on both Lorie and him. “That’s why you insisted on checking the mailbox everyday by yourself? Isn’t it funny that you’re even keeping them! For what purpose? That when you’re old and alone you can throw them in my face and have a great laugh? Sounds like a fantastic retirement plan!”

“I-”

“ **WHY did you hide ALL of them from ME!?** ” Harry shouts with all his strength, flinging the rest of the letters at his mother. “Do I not deserve a message from my best friend? My best friend I had known before I learned how to ride a bicycle? Oh yeah, maybe it’s because your son- your ungrateful, boorish and arrogant son- isn’t worth any positivity in his pathetic life. I see the point!”

“No-no-Harry…it’s not like that.” A single tear streams down from Lorie’s face as she cringes herself beside the table, “I’ve always been proud of-”

Harry cuts her word with a cold laugh, “what more stories do you expect me to believe?!”

“Harry…I-I know it’s all my fault. I was just too scared.” Lorie starts whining with her body shuddering, “After-after your father left, I’ve always been panicking. I h-have nightmares every night that one day you’re gonna leave this home like Johnny did. I’m so so sorry Harry… I was terrified.”

She suddenly bursts into tears, covering her face with her palms. A whimper comes out between her fingers. “And when Niall’s family left for Seattle… I was scared that his letters would make you fall in love with the images of big cities… And someday it would bring you away from me.”

“I still left, anyway.” Harry hisses ruthlessly.

Tears keep pouring down Lorie’s cheeks. She wipes her face with her hands and cries out, “Yes…yes. It proves how stupid I am. And I’ve never stopped regretting for this decision. I did plan to let you know-”

“NO YOU DIDN’T!” Harry yells in protest. His eyes are aching with heat. “You don’t even fucking care! You’re even getting married _tomorrow_! What a fucking joke! You’re running away from all these shits!”

“I’m not-Harry-”

“ **SHUT UP!** I don’t believe a fucking word coming out from your mouth!” Harry exclaims fiercely with a sob choked in his throat. “I guess that’s why Dad left too! Because you are huge liar and everything in this house is covered by all your bullshit!”

Harry doesn’t give Lorie a chance to say another word. He slams the door with a hot teardrop rolling down his face. Gemma is hiding behind the wall when he rushes out of the room. Her lips are shivering and her eyes are turning red. Harry walks past her without a word, heading toward the front door. He needs a crazy drive tonight, a reckless one. Maybe he can keep driving till the border of the United States. Maybe he can drive straight into the Pacific Ocean.

He jerks the door open brutally. Zayn raises his head at him.

“You all right?” Zayn pulls out his earbuds. He seems to be clueless with the quarrel in the house.

For a second Harry tried to explain, but then he shut his mouth. He squints down at Zayn, who is staring back with confusion and concern. An idea pops up in Harry’s mind, so quick that he isn’t ready to stop himself.

“You wanna go to the river?”

 

*****

 

There are a lot of secrets that Harry only kept with himself. For example, he thinks George Harrison was the best member of the Beatles; he used to believe Turkey was in Africa until he finally paid attention to the world map in the classroom one day during the eighth grade; he always adds too much sugar to his coffee that always ends up tasting like milk tea; he lost his virginity at seventeen; his memory is way better than what he really needs it to be.

“I thought we’d go by car.”

Zayn can’t help but grumbling after twenty minutes of roaming. Harry doesn’t look at him, continuing leading the road and replying in a leisure tone.

“There is no road for cars. You’ll be stuck between the bushes,” says Harry absent-mindedly. It doesn’t help ease Zayn’s jitter. He keeps getting distracted by random wood debris and sticks rambling onto the road. There is barely a light on the way, but the halo of the moon glowing at the edge of the leaves. The deeper they penetrate, the more desolate it gets.

“You know if you’re actually planning to murder me here, I won’t even be surprised.” Zayn mutters again as he almost slips when stepping on the puddle, which makes Harry start cackling annoyingly. He doesn’t know why he’s laughing. There is this wry flame of delight flaming beneath his heart and he doesn’t even know how the fire was set.

When the riverbank is finally in their sight, he hears Zayn puff a relieved sound. At least that’s what Harry thinks, because he’s pretty sure no one will gasp in awe when they see the dullest river ever in the world. The fallen leaves are floating above the surface, shimmering in the starlight as it reveals the lifeless riverbed, with moss scattering over the rocks along the riverbank. If this river had a name, it would probably be _Disappointing._

“It’s stunning.” Zayn coos.

“Well, you don’t have to be nice.” Harry wiggles his brow, sneering at Zayn’s comment. His soon-to-be stepbrother gives him a sidelong glance, shaking his head with a given-up smile. But Harry is not preoccupied. He walks toward the river while taking off the shirt. Zayn is gaping at him in shock.

“Um-”

“What? I just wanna get into the water.” Harry stares back, taking off his jeans carelessly, “So you’re gonna just stand there and watch?”

But Zayn doesn’t retorts, pinching his bottom lip nervously. “I-I’d rather stay here. Thanks.”

Harry’s hands stop on his belt. “Excuse me?” he looks up at Zayn with a puzzled frown, “you’ve been nagging and begging me to show you this damn river, just for standing up there and watching me splattering water half-nakedly?”

“I don’t see any problem with that.”

Harry arches his eyebrow.

“Ok, fine.” Zayn throws his hands up abruptly, looking away to hide the flush on his cheeks. “I can’t fucking swim, happy now? I’m not gonna drown myself in a nameless river in front of my stepbrother who only has his underwear on. That’s not how I picture my own death.”

He gulps after babbling his answer in a hurry, still not turning his head back. Harry pops his eyes out, blinking at Zayn with another question, “Then why would you even want to visit this stupid river?”

“It’s my right to be curious, especially when you acted like you’d rather die than bringing me here.” Zayn protests, “Anyway, I’m not coming down there, end of the argument.”

“The water is shallow—”

“—Why don’t you just get into the water real quick, and do whatever- I don’t know- your little mermaid tricks?” Zayn scolds, sulking with embarrassment. Harry titters, kicking off his shoes and dipping his feet into the river while teasing Zayn’s irritated face.

Harry’s body shivers when his skin touches the cold water. He takes a deep breath, slowly sinking himself into the river. The ripples tickle his bare arms gently, dancing upon his spine like a pianist while stars break into pieces around his thighs when he lifts his body up. Harry turns around to look at Zayn, who is narrowing his eyes at the waterdrops sliding down to Harry’s waistline.

“I thought you’d ask me why I finally brought you here.” Harry says, rubbing his biceps as the night breeze sweeps against his shoulders.

Zayn shrugs, “Well, I can’t tell if that’s the reason. Somehow you looked upset. I mean, you always look upset though-” he steps forward attentively, keeping his distance from the river. “You get upset for childish reasons, but not for this one.”

Harry doesn’t answer, not looking at Zayn either. He squats down into the water again, with his eyes closing. There is no reason not to tell Zayn about his conflict with his mother, since all the Malik sisters have witnessed him losing all his temper. But Harry doesn’t want to talk about Lorie now, not to mention Niall and his father. The waves pat his back tenderly, and the similarity in his memory is making his voice dry.

“I tried to drown myself here once.” He utters.

Zayn has a moment of suspense. He looks at Harry vacantly, “What?”

“I was eighteen,” Harry whispers in a delighted tone, as if he is talking about a summer camp he took during high school, “You know, the age of sentimentality. That’s a phase when you think too much, try too hard and reach too far, I suppose.”

“I didn’t know what I was doing anyway. I dropped out school that day-it was a Wednesday, perhaps?” Harry tilts his head and recollects, “I didn’t even remember where I’d been to. But when I finally came back to myself, I was beside the river. And that’s when the idea struck my head.”

He splashes water all over his face, taking another deep breath when he notices Zayn’s stiff expression. Harry lets out a laugh, “Oh c’mon. Don’t take me so seriously. I didn’t have the guts. Just like you said, I exaggerate myself and everything involved in my life.”

“Harry,” Zayn interrupts with a calm voice, “This is not something to make fun of.”

Harry stops spattering the water, eyeing Zayn with a smirk. “I’m not making fun of it either. I mean, that’s just what my life is consisted of. Cliché.”

“This is not cliché.” Zayn takes one more step forward, “This is not the same story as what you’ve told—”

“How is it not?” Harry springs up abruptly, retorting in a peevish tone, “I thought you’d be applauding for me because I finally realize how pathetic and annoying I am.”

“Har—”

“Listen. I hate this fucking town and everything about it. So I probably hate you too.” Harry mumbles before diving himself into the river.

“I’m not even part of this town.” Zayn’s tired voice comes indistinctly above the water.

“You are.” Harry inhales hastily as he raises his head up, brushing his wet hair backward. “Once you’re here, there’s no escape.”

For a long while, they only stare at each other in dead silence. There is only the babble of the brook, and the whisper of the wind. Zayn watches Harry wading to the bank and dropping himself on a rock. He blows a soft sigh eventually, “So that’s why you try your best to get away from here?”

“I don’t fucking know, can’t you see that?” Harry grunts in reply, squeezing water out of his long hair. “I don’t even know what my problem is. I suppose there are a lot, but maybe I don’t even have one. I just fantasize them.”

“Your problem is that you care about problems too much,” says Zayn mildly pulling out a water weed from Harry’s tangled curls, “Maybe you’ve been pushing yourself to be a flawless individual. That’s exhausting.”

“Yeah, I did. I did try to be someone I’m desperate to be. But the consequence is not satisfying.” Harry leans himself against Zayn’s stomach, mumbling sullenly, “I run away from everything, but they always come back to me.”

“Then don’t run. Where do you even want to be?”

Harry laughs bitterly, “Wherever, maybe back to the water.”

“Ugh, you’ve got better place to stay in.”

It makes Harry cackle even louder. He can feel Zayn’s fingers drifting down from his nape to his tailbone. Harry exhales a satisfied moan, as Zayn nuzzles against his neck.

“I want to kiss you.”

“It will be kinda disappointing if that’s all you want to do.”

Their laughter is promptly ended when their lips meet together. It is not like the passionate one Harry conjectures, but a soft, teasing, and lingering kiss that makes his blood boiling along with the taste that blooms on the tip of his tongue. Zayn tugs him closer, so that Harry can smell the cologne on his collarbones. _He might go to hell for this_ , that is an unexpected thought popping up in his head as Harry tries to concentrate on the kiss. Zayn pecks his bottom lip as revenge when he notices Harry can’t help but start tittering.

“Seriously, you do have some problems.”

Zayn presses him on the ground, continuing the interrupted kiss by leaving hickeys all over the rest of Harry’s body parts. Harry bites his lip to muffle the groan he just lets out, curving his body as Zayn goes lower and lower. He closes his eyes, fumbling for Zayn’s arm to seize. “Wait…wait…” he pants, trying to stop Zayn from the further action, “You promised…from behind, against the tree, twice.”

“That can always be arranged.” Zayn smirks, tugging the edge of Harry’s underwear. “No one says we can’t start from something else, baby. We can try as many times as you want, if you can last.”

“God damn it.” Harry whines, propping himself up with his elbows so he can stare into Zayn’s eyes. “Just take me now.”

“You’re still so impatient.” Zayn teases, tracing between Harry’s thighs with two fingers. He grins while Harry exhales another series of moan, “I warned you before. Don’t skip steps. You’ll regret it.”

“Shut up.” Harry hushes, glaring and gasping at Zayn, “Fuck me raw, I dare you, bastard. When was the last time you fucked someone and they were already wet before you even shoved in?”

Zayn’s jaw drops when he hears Harry’s word. It takes him a few seconds to react, and then burst into laughter.

“You’ve got some senses of humor now. How priceless.”

And of course he accepts Harry’s challenge. He strips down Harry’s boxers, in a rather smooth pace that drives the younger boy crazy. And then he unbuckles his jeans too, making sure Harry is watching carefully with every single action he takes. Harry stretches his legs around Zayn’s waist, so that Zayn can pull them closer to his crotch.

Harry’s cheeks are flushing into rosy red. He puffs briefly, as a signal to hurry Zayn with their affair. Zayn bowls his hands around Harry’s hip, waggling his eyebrows with a huge smirk.

“If someone caught us doing this right now, it must be so _interesting_.”

“Fuck.” Harry rolls his eyes as the anxiety actually climbs up to his back, “I would never return to this bloody place if that happened. I’d move to Iceland and never see my family again. And then—fuuuuuuuuuuuck.”

Harry didn’t get to finish his speech on the escaping plan when Zayn jerks himself into Harry’s body without an alarm. “Fuck yoooou, holy motherfucking—Oh my GOD.”

His arms can hardly support himself as Zayn’s thrust goes faster and faster. Harry exclaims a long whimper, lyingdown his body to the ground. Zayn gulps for more air, pushing himself deeper inside that makes Harry’s eyes water. He looks at Harry, who is gripping his index finger between his teeth. A few tears are falling down from his green eyes.

“Baby, you want me to stop?” Zayn worries. But Harry covers his own face and yells, “Don’t you fucking DARE, bitch” and then grumbles with sobs. “You really don’t—” “SHUT—U—P—”

So Zayn follows, speeding up the friction between Harry’s legs. Harry’s voice is broken and intermittent, and he can barely catches his breath. But he knows Zayn is close, because Harry himself is about to come too. And when the moment finally hits, they can feel the same shiver striking through both of their bodies. Harry gasps hastily and loudly. His heart is ready to pop out his chest.

“You are…incredible, baby.” Zayn squeezes his words under his breath, Harry can barely reply. He can’t even get up from the ground either. And then Zayn bends himself closer, pressing his lips gently on Harry’s cheekbone.

“Love you.”

Harry almost loses his breath again. He frowns at Zayn while blinking quickly. And Zayn only replies with another kiss.

So Harry smiles as well.

“Love you too.”

 

*****

 

Lorie is waiting in the living room when they stumble their way back home. She widens her eyes as she sees them both soaked in water. Zayn excuses himself immediately. Harry flips his fringe deliberately, “We went swimming.” He shrugs, patting off the mud on his shirt.

His mother is speechless at his completely different attitude, stuttering, “Harry, love, if you want me to—”

“You know-it’s-whatever. I don’t care anymore,” says Harry with a placid voice. “It’s all past so, there’s no need to argue over that. It won’t change anything anyway.”

Lorie can hardly believe what she’s heard. She looks up at her son (who is somehow covering his neck and collarbones in a weird position), with her eyes full of questions. “But-but-what I did was-”

“You’re getting married.” Harry cuts her words, “So just go fuck it u- I mean, go live it up with your life. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“But it was your best friend’s-”

“And it is your wedding day tomorrow.” Harry shrugs again, grinning with an awkward smile, “It’s your life. Live it.” He hesitates at the end, and then adds another word in a soft tone. “Mom.”

He is soon pulled into a tight grip, with his mother’s face covered by as much water as his whole body is.

 

*****

 

The town had been enveloped in heat for a few weeks. So when it started to drizzle the morning of the wedding day, everyone is thrown into a mess. Gemma and Doniya run into the garden and scramble to move the flower buckets before all the petals are hit onto the ground by the raindrop. Waliyha and Safaa are trying to help Lorie arrange her hair that always goes frizzy under a humid day. Khaleel and Zayn skip breakfast to clean the pathway that becomes muddy due to the sudden rain.

Harry is the last one bothered by the weather. The only thing he changes is his outfit for the wedding. Lorie frowns at him when he finally gets down the stairs at ten in a silk shirt with floral print. His skin can obviously be seen under those rose mallow patterns.

“Harry, sweetie,” asks Lorie warily since she doesn’t really want to get into another fight, “Why don’t you put on your suit? You will look polished in yours. Our new family members will be impressed, too.”

But Harry doesn’t get her intention. He yawns and leans forward to give his mother a kiss. “Thanks Mom. I feel comfy in this one, don’t worry.”

He walks into the kitchen to get some water. Zayn has just finished his cleaning chore and steps into the house from the back door with his father.

“Nice shirt, Harry.” Khaleel smiles at him while closing the door.

“Thank you, Mr. Malik.” Harry grins back, and then takes a sneaky glimpse at Zayn, who is staring at Harry’s nipples under the half-transparent shirt. Zayn nods at him and then looks out of the window while Harry nips the edge of his glass in case Khaleel hears him giggling out loud.

Everyone is relieved when the rain stops around noon, which means the banquet can still be held successfully. Harry bumps into Zayn again when he is going to bring his cookies into the garden. Zayn has just got himself well-dressed in the one that Lorie expected Harry to show up with. Harry pouts as he notices how perfectly Zayn’s figure is presented in the well-cut black tuxedo. Zayn walks toward Harry, and then points at the tray in Harry’s hands. “Did you make them?”

“Yeah,” Harry answers blankly, “Gemma and I were making—HEY!”

He groans loudly as he spots Zayn stealing one of the cookies and putting it into his mouth. Zayn licks his finger with a satisfied smile and gives a thumbs up at Harry’s sullen face, “Terrific!” He whispers into Harry’s ear. “You should let me eat them up from your stomach next time.”

Zayn flees away as Lorie heads toward their direction. She looks gorgeous in her classic violet dress. Harry grins at her when she rubs her fingers nervously. She brushes her hair absently, which is exactly the same habit Harry has.

“Hey, honey.” She smiles and looks at the cookies, “They look fantastic. I’m so happy that Gemma finally found her cooking skill back. It’s probably because you’re here, love…”

Before Harry can stop himself, he interrupts Lorie’s muse abruptly. “She didn’t make these.”

Lorie turns her head with confusion, “Sorry Harry, what did you say?”

“It wasn’t Gemma who made these cookies.” Harry shrugs, with the best smile he can give, “She never made our dinner either, nor the lunchboxes for school. At least not when I was still here.”

His mother opens her mouth and pops out her eyes at him.

“Sorry Mom. I was just thinking…maybe we all have secrets. So that’s quite fair.” Harry widens his innocent eyes at her, raising up the tray a little, “Cookies?”

 

Harry sneaks back to his room again right after the lunch. He opens his wardrobe and the drawers of his desk, making sure there’s nothing left. His traveling bag is resting against the wall, with all the stuffs he had packed last night inside. He opens the envelope of the airline he booked, checking his departure time once again. And then he turns around to reach his jacket hung on the doorknob, but soon is shocked by the person standing next to his door.

“Holy—can’t you just make a sound or something?”

“Are you leaving already?” Zayn ignores Harry’s grumble, looking around his clean room and then stares at the bag in the corner. “They haven’t even finished their wine.”

“I booked my tickets a few weeks ago. And my manager is actually generous enough to give me three day-off to join the wedding.” Harry fans himself with the flight ticket, distracting his eyes from locking on Zayn, who is leaning on the doorframe and blocking Harry from leaving his room.

“Not even a goodbye?”

Harry puts the ticket back into the envelope, letting out a slight sigh. “Don’t try to guilt me, Zayn. I don’t like doing this. It’s like I’d never come back or something.”

“Then when are you coming back?”

Harry pauses, lifting his head up slowly and catches on Zayn’s gaze. His hazel eyes dim when Harry looks at him without a word. Harry licks his dry lips, trying to beam a smile at him, “What do you mean?”

“I’m leaving here next week, too, and then going back to L.A.” Zayn replies, with his eyes fixing on Harry’s, “Is there any chance we can meet up?”

“You’ve got my number.” Harry mumbles.

“Will you pick it up if I call you though?”

“Zayn-”

“What if you never come back like you said before?”

“I didn’t mean it-”

“Will we go to that river again?”

“How many questions do you have-”

“Can I kiss you right now?”

Harry opens his mouth, but can’t make a word. He stares at Zayn’s face, hoping to find a clue that he might be joking. But all Zayn does is stand right there with his arms crossing, without moving his eyebrows or a little smirk. And at this very moment, the only thought elevating in his empty mind is that he would be the stupidest person in the world if he rejects this kiss from Zayn Malik in whole black tuxedo, with his hair pulled back and trapping him in the room by blocking the only exit with his entire body. How pathetic does he need to be to decline this invitation?

“Ok.” Harry moves his lips, submissively.

He used to think a kiss with Zayn would taste like riptide, being overwhelmed by the emotion, the touch and the taste while he tries to breathe through the waves hitting on his face. But it didn’t happen. It didn’t happen the last time and not even this time either. What he tasted was the breeze in his hair, water streaming through his fingertips, mudon his knees and cobbles underneath his feet. So maybe Zayn has always been right about him. He’s exaggerating everything in he life. But that’s his cliché. That’s _their_ cliché.

“I really need to go.” Harry mutters to Zayn’s lips while slowly drawing himself away. Zayn loosens his fingers around Harry’s jaw reluctantly.

“So what are we going to do with them then?” Zayn asks when Harry picks up his bag.

“Do what?”

“Um, you know.” Zayn points downstairs with an awkward smile on his face, “If this is how we’re gonna work.”

“Hmm…” Harry puffs, looking down the stairs in silence. He recalls Lorie’s face when she realized it was actually Harry who had always been contributing to their dinner. If knowing her son can bake had already put her into shock, Harry can’t even imagine what her reaction would be if she finds out the affair between Zayn and him.

“Well, we will figure it out one day.” He walks through the door, pecking Zayn’s lip teasingly.

 

*****

Harry wakes up in his seat at 5:17 pm, ten minutes before the plane arrives in San Francisco. The sunlight on his right side is dazzling. He pouts reluctantly when the flight attendant stops him from pulling down the window shade. He shelters his eyes under his palm, exhaling slightly as he spots the bay under his feet. In a few minutes he’s going to turn on his phone and receive hundreds of missed calls from his manager and colleagues. He lets out a deep sigh again. Maybe he should quit his job, and then open a new bakery along the Filbert Street, watching cars speed down the steep hill in front of the windows. The bakery would be named after his petty hometown - he can’t remember the name right now but someday he will. And then he’s gonna make a pot of lemongrass tea in the afternoon so he can watch Zayn drink it. Harry knows it is going to piss him off. He’s dying to see Zayn pissed off, because most of time it is Harry’s job to be the upset one between them. It is a childish plan and Harry misses being childish so much.

So he wonders, _well_ , maybe that’s what it is.

At first he had made up a lot of glorious excuses in his mind, mainly to convince himself. This kind of self-cheating behavior has become custom. Time will rationalize his suspicion, and then create courage out of nowhere. But it isn’t too bad, because Harry is pretentious and that’s where he starts to be real. He might as well put this five-minute fantasy on the plane into action. He _really_ wants to make some lemongrass tea for Zayn right now.

The captain is broadcasting, buzzing in his ears with strong Southern accent. Harry closes his eyes for the last time, concealing his giggles from imagining himself unpacking his stuff when he’s back to the office. He will receive so many calls, but he will only pick up one of them. That’s the first and the last thing he’s going to do. He’s not planning to explain the story, because nobody is going to ask anyway.

And if someone does ask, he’ll say, it’s all about the river and cliché.

 

 

Fin.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoy :) xo
> 
> [Tumblr](http://magentania.tumblr.com) | [Twitter](http://twitter.com/magentania)


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